Tuesday, April 7, 2009

*Everyday Chatter

Are some Manhattanites oddly xenophobic towards Brooklyn? Not to mention Brookynites doing naked performance art, which isn't exactly a new thing. Women artists in particular have been doing this stuff since the 1960s. [VF]

Coney may be open, but Ruby's is still on hold. [Grub]

In the Panopticon Metropolis, luxury = taking a dump in front of friends, family, and the whole neighborhood. Maybe it's high-end performance art. [NYT] (See also: showcase on 7th)

Tiny narcissists get boot-camp lessons in empathy. [NYT]

Not everyone loves the iPhone. Virginia Heffernan finds it "like a lipsticky girl with a vodka drink. It usually does things in a cute way" and requires "so much attention, organization, explanation, praise, electricity." [NYT]

Atlantic Yards project leave neighborhood horribly blighted. [Gothamist]

Etherea records is very much gone. [FP]


Kevin Walsh said...

The IPhone commercials leave me cold. The thing looks like Sulu's navigation panel on the enterprise.

I hardly use my cell phone, but if I did use one a lot I would want one with a keyboard that doesn't disappear.


Anonymous said...

Kevin, I am your age. Trust me you would hate the iphone. It's like a very shiny brick. It's a pretty good mirror though, I use it to put on lipstick.

That girl from the upper east side doesn't even have the decency to be embarrassed about what an idiot she is. She's like something out of Bonfire of the Vanities.

Bob said...

I always found Vanity Fair to be a bit pretentious but I do admit to casually skimming it in the past since there is material worth reading in most issues. Ms. Ahlborn's piece, however, is not only self-indulgent and elitist but also unimaginably vapid and insipid. It's not unusual to feel like you're being talked down to while reading Vanity Fair, but at least up until now it's been by knowledgeable snobs who are at least well-versed in the matters they're being snobbish about. That piece is mindless rubbish from a Carrie Bradshaw clone with apparently no concept whatsoever of the avant-garde and a great deal of contempt for anyone or anything that shatters her sheltered little transplanted Upper East Side worldview. Either that or it's brilliantly insidious satire.